Hang in there buddy (Klance)
  • LECTURAS 1,059
  • Votos 46
  • Partes 7
  • Hora 4h 21m
  • LECTURAS 1,059
  • Votos 46
  • Partes 7
  • Hora 4h 21m
Concluida, Has publicado oct 06, 2019
Keith has been a medium ever since he can remember.
His spirit Guardian, Allura leads him in his quest to help ghosts move to the afterlife. Only that he'd prefer not to help her.
While his Reputation becomes a burden in his daily life, he tries very Little to fulfill his Job accordingly. However, being aquintainces with the head of the police, he is quite used to crime Scenes and corpses.
But what happens when a ghost appears who does not seem to have a corpse. How come, he is yet to be missed? More so, since the ghost in Question Claims to be unaware of his corpse's whereabouts?
It should be an easy quest. However, to Keith it is not. More so, since along the way, he discovers what truly happened during the accident three years ago. And suddenly, the quirky ghost at his side becomes the Person he feels for the most.

 

Alternatively: The Story behind the death of Lance McClain

A.N.:// the art is mine
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Lance's Funeral de NineteenEighteen
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Keith hated himself for liking Lance. His limber build, the way he carried himself with shoulders raised and chin held high. His blue eyes, dark like the sea's deep, inky bottom. His tangled mess of dark brown hair that stood at odd angles, and never seemed to obey Lance's vigorous brushing. His smooth, light brown skin as he crinkled his nose, or batted the sand from his eyes on a particularly windy afternoon. Even his laugh, as loudly obnoxious as it was, Keith adored. And that was the worst part, because, unlike Keith, Lance hated him. With every word he uttered, an argument seemed to arise. Lance constantly joked and poked fun of Keith, determined to one up him in every way imaginable. So, in all retrospect, Keith had every right to detest Lance in return. But that was the thing: he didn't. Even as Lance stood before him on the worst days - face scrunched and reddened, throat hoarse from the shouting - all Keith thought as he stood stone faced, eyes locked on Lance's chattering lips, was: 'wow, I really want to kiss this shit-head.' And then he was both mad at himself and the world. Mad at himself for imagining Lance in ways he shouldn't, and mad at the world for allowing Lance to be in his life in the first place. It was torture. As powerful as a lash to the chest, or a hammer to the kneecap. Especially now, as Keith stood above Lance's cold, unflinching corpse. The dead boy's bony hands crossed over his chest, shoulders squared atop the white, velvet cushion that rested inside the opened coffin. He wore the best suit and tie money could buy, and had his shaven scalp hidden by a head of hair that was similar, but could never match the boy's old image. The image before cancer. The image before hell. The image before Keith's every being crumbled to dust. *** A Klance au in which Keith discovers that him and only him can see Lance's ghost. COVER ART: kuurakuu on Tumblr
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Lance's Funeral

25 Partes Concluida

Keith hated himself for liking Lance. His limber build, the way he carried himself with shoulders raised and chin held high. His blue eyes, dark like the sea's deep, inky bottom. His tangled mess of dark brown hair that stood at odd angles, and never seemed to obey Lance's vigorous brushing. His smooth, light brown skin as he crinkled his nose, or batted the sand from his eyes on a particularly windy afternoon. Even his laugh, as loudly obnoxious as it was, Keith adored. And that was the worst part, because, unlike Keith, Lance hated him. With every word he uttered, an argument seemed to arise. Lance constantly joked and poked fun of Keith, determined to one up him in every way imaginable. So, in all retrospect, Keith had every right to detest Lance in return. But that was the thing: he didn't. Even as Lance stood before him on the worst days - face scrunched and reddened, throat hoarse from the shouting - all Keith thought as he stood stone faced, eyes locked on Lance's chattering lips, was: 'wow, I really want to kiss this shit-head.' And then he was both mad at himself and the world. Mad at himself for imagining Lance in ways he shouldn't, and mad at the world for allowing Lance to be in his life in the first place. It was torture. As powerful as a lash to the chest, or a hammer to the kneecap. Especially now, as Keith stood above Lance's cold, unflinching corpse. The dead boy's bony hands crossed over his chest, shoulders squared atop the white, velvet cushion that rested inside the opened coffin. He wore the best suit and tie money could buy, and had his shaven scalp hidden by a head of hair that was similar, but could never match the boy's old image. The image before cancer. The image before hell. The image before Keith's every being crumbled to dust. *** A Klance au in which Keith discovers that him and only him can see Lance's ghost. COVER ART: kuurakuu on Tumblr